


cross my heart

by baecobz



Series: in every universe [13]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Super power AU, Violence, Vomiting, donghyuck is a little mean but thats bc hes been Hardened By The World, i Swear theres a tag for it but i cant find it rip, it happens once, its not super graphic but its there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baecobz/pseuds/baecobz
Summary: mark is twenty years old when the world goes to shit, but yukhei is there to help him get on his feet.(or, everyone has superpowers and mark is just a little bit unprepared for the cute stranger that saves his life.)





	cross my heart

**Author's Note:**

> uhh this was v much out of my comfort zone i hope its not too bad thank u lov u guys ahhh

ever since people with powers started becoming a thing, mark had thought that the entire world would shift, maybe morphing into something better, or even crumbling into an unrecognizable wasteland of vengeance and greed.

what he didn’t expect was this-- nine years later, with dozens of new regulations and very little actual change.

because perhaps he had expected some sort of mutant warzone, or a superpowered showdown of some sorts. instead, people have their powers and just carry on with their lives; they get them registered, get training to keep it under control, and move on like normal.

a lot of that is probably the result of the mundanity of most powers; when people first started presenting, the world had been reeling with the idea of people having insane, planet-destroying abilities. so far, though, the most “powerful” skill to date is one boy who was reportedly able to heal himself.

well, he was until he went off the grid and was presumed missing half a dozen years ago, but.

(apparently, since he couldn’t do any actual damage-- he was around mark’s age, so definitely far too young to get involved with anything, really-- the government had set him aside as a potential war medic, maybe someone they could risk putting into the field and give help to soldiers in the midst of battle. it was only a few days after they announced as much that the boy had disappeared and was written off as a dead runaway.)

mark himself was registered a few years ago, when he had turned seventeen-- had sat down in cold, clinical offices and sat beside his mother as they signed paper after paper, form after form, promising that _yes_ , his power was being able to read vague emotions-- nothing more, nothing less. his “training” that went with it was less than a week, since no one really cared much for the potential damage wrought by a teenager with high empathy.

mark wasn’t sure then (still really wasn’t now, honestly) why his mother had insisted that they keep his other powers to himself. emotional redirection, as she described it, didn’t sound like much, but there were more and more reports of the kids falling under government “care” whenever their power was deemed important enough.

which is fine, except for when things start escalating in the same way that mark had imagined.

a young boy, just a year younger than mark, had nearly been taken against his will on live television-- dozens of news programs had been streaming the event as armed forces tried to coerce him into custody. he had admitted to being able to create small explosions in the palm of his fist, more spark than heat, and was promptly noted as a reliable source for their military.

they had cornered him, and then there were lights everywhere, and-- poof-- he was gone.

it was like something out of a magic show, but with bullets and blood and a few civilians down during the panic.

that was when the new law came out: register your powers and come if asked; if not, officials have the right to shoot and contain the “threat” at any cost.

a day after it was released, another boy caused a city-wide power outage-- also younger than mark, but not by much-- and had been presumed dead after trying to run from a newly formed police squad.

mark’s mom had nearly flown into a panic at that, something only heightened when mark had been sent home from school after forcing an almost paralyzing wave of anxiety at some upper class jerk. he was supposed to keep his powers under wraps, sure, but he refused to be someone who just sat by and _watched_ someone get hurt when he knew very well that he could help.

regardless, the school was getting suspicious, so it was only a matter of time before they sent a report for questioning and the government got involved, and--

“you need to leave.” mark always had a bit of trouble following his mother’s train of thought, but there were times like this, every so often, when his head just couldn’t keep up and he was left gaping back, cutting in half-formed questions.

“wait, but--”

“it’s not safe for you here anymore. it’s only a matter of time-- i have some friends who can get you to somewhere safer, but i can’t go with you,” mark tugs at her sleeve, feeling fear and confusion swell up deep and suffocating in his lungs, but his mother only sighs, broken and tired, “i can’t, honey, i’m so sorry.” she pulls him close to his chest, and it’s all too much too fast because he’s twenty years old with powers he doesn’t understand, and he’s almost drowning in the genuine, overwhelming _sadness_ that comes with his mother’s touch.

he ends up leaving that night, when she drops him off at an old friend’s house with plenty of cash and water. his little drawstring bag has some food, too, along with a switchblade, a first aid kit, and a flashlight. he’s pretty sure that he sees her sneak in a few fake ids and passports, which is only half-surprising with her own ability to replicate items she had touched.

(just like mark, she hadn’t registered her full power, instead only mentioning that she could remember the objects well, not recreate them.)

the older woman living inside is someone mark remembers to be the neighbor who had planted flowers in her garden and watched over mark when he played outside-- someone quiet and gentle who had always looked out for him.

when she ushers him inside, eyes wary and nervous, mark knows something is wrong.

“someone saw your mother.” she says quietly, stuffing her own share of cash and food into mark’s bag. it’s still light enough for him to carry, but he shifts to adjust to the added weight. “when she was coming into the driveway, i think. they’re gonna get suspicious, so you need to leave immediately.”

it’s not what was in the plan (where mark got to rest and prepare there for a few days, maybe sleep in her attic and nibble on hidden snacks), but mark knows better than to risk sticking to it. instead, he nods; she has him carry a knife under his shirt and sends him along, nudging him out the backdoor and towards the forest.

“i have an old friend waiting for you out there. he should be by the cabin, so move quickly.”

mark nods and offers what he hopes is an audibly sincere _thank you_ . he’s not quite sure what the repercussions of all of _this_ is going to be, but he can’t imagine it’ll be good.

(his mom is going to have to deal with it too, alone, and he hates the fact that she has to stay back and defend him. they could just leave together, make it out safe and alive and not so alone, but. she has her reasons, and mark knows by now not to doubt her.)

he makes it to a tiny cabin in less than an hour; there’s a middle-aged man sitting on his porch, shotgun lying across his lap, and he stands as soon as he sees mark approaching.

mark’s not quite sure how he’s supposed to tell who the older woman’s “old friend” even is, but it only takes him a moment to think _oh, this isn’t him_ when he’s hit with an onslaught of emotions.

there’s anger and worry and under it all, a sort of fear and concerned mixture that mark has learned to describe as self-preservation, and it’s radiating off of the older man in thick bursts.

there’s another feeling, an almost imperceptible layer of tension and thinning patience, but it’s slightly distant, and mark’s not quite sure why this man is so eager to shoot him-- still, he doesn’t think about it, doesn’t want to spend his last few moments worrying over that when he could be thinking about his mother, her smile, the way she held him against her chest and sung to him when he was small.

when the man fires, shotgun pointed dead center at mark’s face, mark closes his eyes.

then he’s finally registering the yell that came before it, and every picturesque moment of mark’s near death comes crashing down, complete with a tidal wave of _anger_ , pure and unbridled in its intensity.

mark can barely even stumble backwards in time for a new stranger to avoid hitting him as he knocks the older man down, kicking him to the ground and firing a quick shot.

it happens all too quickly, mark still trying to register that he’s not dead, when he comes face to face with the stranger.

when the stranger turns to him, it hits mark very quickly how _young_ he is, maybe even close to mark’s own age; he still has bags under his eyes and a trained weariness to his steps, but he’s got an undeniable spring to every glance that can only come with youth.

it’s then that mark notices that there’s a bullet hole slowly cauterizing itself in the boy’s arm, a shaky smile ever present on his lips as he holds a hand out to mark.

mark turns to glance at the man next to him, barely catching a glimpse of the similar wound in his head (same place he was aiming for on mark) before the other boy is tugging him away, gritting his teeth while they stumble through the woods.

mark can’t help but keep looking over his shoulder, watching for any incoming currents of unfamiliar emotions as the cabin disappears ever so slowly into the horizon. they take a break eventually, because mark can’t stop thinking about the man with the bullet in his head or the blood-stained grass or, fuck, the _bullet_ \-- mark spends about a minute just retching into the grass as the other boy leans against a tree and waits.

they spend a few more minutes after that as mark catches his breath and bites back the vile forming in his throat, pushing the thoughts away because he’s still alive, and he doesn’t have time to waste on dead bodies when he should be _running_ \-- but how can they run far if the boy who rescued him is shot? he looks over, prepared to throw up again in case it looks particularly nasty, but has to look again. and again, because his arm looks fine, save for the blood stains on his shirt and forearms, still damp and wet under the moonlight.

mark _swears_ the stranger had been shot somewhere, and then he’s looking at the faint outline of a scar that’s rapidly fading as he stares, and it hits him.

“oh my _god_ ,” mark has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop from yelling, eyes wide as his voice drops to a whisper, “holy shit, you’re that kid that was on the news, like, _years_ ago. the healer.”

“that sounds so cheesy, don’t call me that.” the boy scratches at the back of his neck, and there’s a sort of glow about him that mark can’t quite place. there’s a bit of awkwardness to him, maybe, but it’s surrounded with waves of something akin to fear. it’s stifling and familiar and mark hates it more than he’s ever hated anything before. “can we get going? if we stay here any longer, we run the risk of getting caught.”

smugness creeps into the woods, and mark is whirling around to come nose to nose with a familiar face, looking the source of the fog right in the eyes. he stumbles back on instinct, but the stranger catches him with firm hands and a sense of relief.

“hyuck, don’t scare me like that,” the stranger laughs, and the other boy laughs back. mark’s not really sure what’s funny about the whole thing, so he stays quiet.

“i wanted to see if this guy would notice.” the boy snorts, then adds, “apparently not, but at least he saw me before i spooked him too bad.”

“nana would kill you if you freaked him out.”

“he couldn’t hurt me if his life depended on it.”

“uh,” mark says very, very quietly, looking for any signs of frustration or resentment or anything negative, really, as he speaks up, “you said we should get going, right? but also, who exactly are you guys? weren’t you the people who went missing?”

“donghyuck,” the younger boy hums, pointing to himself with a sort of electricity that mark shouldn’t be able to feel but he _does_ , and then there’s pride covering every branch as he adds, “yeah, i’m the spark guy. the government couldn’t catch this bitch.”

“or this bitch,” the other stranger says quietly, but mark still has a bit of trouble matching the boy now to the kid he had seen on tv so long ago. “i’m yukhei, by the way, and i’m supposed to bring you somewhere safe.”

“where?” mark asks, and donghyuck laughs in thinly veiled frustration.

“to jeju, you idiot. the safest island in this stupid country.” he tugs yukhei along, and mark trails after them and pretends not to feel terrified as he follows. “so, pretty boy, what’s your power? why are you on the run?”

“don’t call him that.” yukhei says softly. he doesn’t quite sound angry, but there’s another, warmer feeling to his words, one that mark has always associated with his mother alone. it’s protectiveness, perhaps, except yukhei has no reason to be protective of him. “he has a name.”

“well, what’s your name?” donghyuck turns to look at mark, eyebrow raised. he lets yukhei’s hand go, and they all pretend not to see the way that yukhei’s own twitches to reach for mark’s.

(mark reaches a palm out anyways, lets it brush against yukhei’s fingers before he intertwines them. donghyuck looks away with a smile.)

“mark,” he says quietly, because although minhyung is what’s on his birth certificate, it’s not what his mother calls him. “i’m, uh, good with emotions? feelings, i guess?”

“oh?” yukhei asks, and it’s so genuinely curious, like they’re not trekking through the woods in the middle of the night to somehow get to an island miles and miles away (seriously-- are they going to take a boat? does donghyuck expect him to swim? what’s going on). he makes the question casual and warm, and it makes mark feel safe. it’s probably a side effect of having saved mark’s life, but.

“i can read emotions, kind of? and redirect them a little. i’m still working on the second part.”

“what am i feeling?” donghyuck cuts in, and mark is pretty sure the animosity from earlier has given way to pure wonder. it makes mark question just how many people they’ve met, how large their little group of rebels of sorts even is.

“you’re curious? i mean, kind of skeptical, too-- like, you believe me, but i assume you’re not sure how my power is useful. i think.”

“do yukhei.” donghyuck doesn’t even look at the older boy for that, just stares straight at mark with a quirked smile and a raised brow. he doesn’t even bat an eye as he ducks under a branch and keeps moving. “c’mon, i’ll admit you read me well. now do it to yukhei.”

“uh--” mark side eyes the older boy, a quiet check for any uncomfortable waves or hesitance, but is met with pure openness.  for someone used to being able to pick apart hidden feelings, it’s odd to have someone hand it forward so openly. “he’s glad? oh, fuck, he’s a little worried now; i think i reminded him of something bad. like, i think my power is a relief? y’know, since i’m essentially just a weirdo in a tent with a fortune ball. i can’t-- i can’t hurt anyone. or-- i mean, yeah. no.”

“how would you hurt someone?” yukhei says very, very gently. mark knows he’s trying to be polite about it, but he can feel the tense in his fingertips and the worry that comes with it. “if you were on your own, could you defend yourself?”

“i mean, maybe?” mark’s spare hand scratches at the back of his neck. he feels very, very exposed, laid bare as yukhei pokes and prods at his abilities and their every limit. “if i’m freaked out enough, i might be able to redirect it at some people, but i still have trouble redirecting my own feelings. it’s easier with other people.”

yukhei nods, thoughtful, even as donghyuck laughs.

“that’s so precious. you’d literally be the most useless person in a fight.”

“don’t be mean.” yukhei huffs, and although he laughs, mark can feel the same warmth from earlier as he tightens his hold on mark’s hand. maybe it is protectiveness, after all. “you couldn’t do shit until taeyong and i got you proper training.”

“yeah, but i had potential.”

“so does mark.” yukhei is so insistent in the way he says it that mark hesitates. he’s not quite sure why someone would be so sure of it, especially when he needed to be rescued just a few minutes ago, so.

“how do you know?” it’s a shot in the dark, but when yukhei misses a step and exhales a brief burst of panic, mark knows something’s up.

“we, uh, may have been watching you? not for very long. we were in contact with some people who knew your mom, and we started keeping tabs on you a month ago.” a pause, then, quietly, “that thing you did at school the other day was really cool.”

donghyuck hisses _what thing_ and although mark knows he should be upset, should probably be worried that these guys are gonna murder him or exploit him or _something_ , instead he squeezes yukhei’s hand and looks away

“thanks,” he mumbles, and contentment flows from yukhei’s fingertips into his palm.

there’s that protectiveness again, more firm this time; despite everything, mark feels safe.

even when they make it to the beach a few hours later, when his legs are tired and the moon is starting to fade, yukhei holds mark’s hand and helps him onto what donghyuck describes as a luxury boat-- it’s a half-broken canoe, but go off-- mark trusts him. perhaps stupidly so, but he does anyways. someone from jeju manages to pull them in with a power yukhei has trouble describing, and it’s only a matter of minutes before the spray of the ocean has calmed down and yukhei’s smile has disappeared ever so slightly that they make it onto the island.

“you never get used to it.” yukhei whispers, pointing absentmindedly towards the boat, and mark tries not to shiver. it’s probably because his clothes are wet.

mark meets a few people (the most noticeable being jaemin, who offers him a towel and a water bottle with surprising gentleness, especially because he drags donghyuck into a headlock immediately afterwards), but then yukhei is pulling him towards a spare tent and insisting he get some rest.

mark is tired, sure, but he should know better than to fall asleep now. he’s on a whole new island full of people he doesn’t really know or trust, but.

yukhei is there, offering him an extra blanket and to keep watch, and mark is so tired (from walking, from running and hiding, from being afraid and so, so alone), so he’s asleep in minutes.

true to his word, yukhei keeps watch.

true to mark’s hopes, he never really stops.

**Author's Note:**

> yall this was WILD. i lov superhero/superpower aus with my entire heart but im also so scared of writing them?? bc its hard to feel like im writing smthn Good and Creative but uhhhh i hope u liked reading this jfslkdjs
> 
> it would make my day if u came and talked to me on [curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/6woojin) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/woo6in)!!! about this fic, markhei, or literally anything else :')  
> as always!!! major thanks to those of u reading and who leave kudos/bookmarks/comments!!!!! yall the real ones n im rlly rlly grateful i lov u mwah


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